Tales of Fabulous Namu

By Yancy Ball

Zhura and her companions have arrived in the fabled city of Namu, where she continues her quest for clues as to her ancestry. But her arrangement with the noble House San falls apart, and she must quickly raise coin to keep her companions in their home - or surrender the sanju demon bound to her.

Zhura's plan to buy the nobles off soon finds her allied with the women of a brothel trying to throw off the yoke of a vicious gang of thieves. The lusty herb-witch does what she does best, rutting and battling her way through a host of unsavory characters, from sandy beaches to crowded lanes of the city slums.

Can Zhura appease House San while protecting those she loves?

While the Gods Slumber is an erotic fantasy adventure series about love and legacy in a world rich with beauty, danger and ancient lore. If you like erotica set in well-imagined worlds populated by multi-dimensional characters - human and otherwise, these might be the stories for you. But it is not for the faint of heart! It contains mythical creatures that lust for human flesh, and graphic sexual situations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yancy Ball
• Release date: Nov 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005514679

Yancy Ball

As an amateur writer with a vastly overactive imagination, Yancy Ball has been writing sexy heroines into African-inspired fantasy realms for many years. During the day, Yancy enjoys cycling, martial arts, and conspiring to build a brighter future. Read Yancy’s Smashwords interview at https://www.smashwords.com/interview/yibala.

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Tales of Fabulous Namu

by Yancy Ball

Published by Yancy Ball

Copyright 2020

Smashwords Edition

Cover Art by The Illustrated Page Book Design

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Infernal Love

The Orchid

Drums of Battle

Making Friends

Sample of Descent

About the Author

Other Books by Yancy Ball

Connect with Yancy Ball

Prologue

You tamed fierce tribes, made their children priests

Great Namu-on-the-sea

Broke chains of empires, forged doors to the East

Great Namu-on-the-sea

May the dawn sun smile upon your golden domes

Great Namu-on-the-sea

Until the Gods awaken and the End Time comes

Great Namu-on-the-sea

Acclamation of Nyah Negane, poetess and Golden Magister, c. 2800 by the Ummran Calendar

Infernal Love

South of Namu, near Dugong Marsh; Month of Red Dust, 3125

They lurched across the beach in a parade of sorrow, flowing robes and gowns fluttering in the ocean breeze. The starless sky bled away the bright colors of their garments. Ropes bound the eight captives’ hands behind them and to the next in line. When one stumbled, the men who drove them struck him with whips and cudgels. The bitter procession staggered towards a slim boat their captors had hauled up on the shoreline.

Four of them, Ngo counted the stout, bare-chested slavers, gaze riveted on his quarry like the hunter he had been. He smeared mud on his face, covering over white tribal marks on his dark skin. Two more waiting with the boat.

Zhura eyed her second companion as the three crouched in the long grass. Bayati drew a mambele from her leather pack, the hooked blades of the axe jutting from its haft like spiky branches from a tree limb. Fierce determination set the young woman’s expression.

Bayati was a village merchant’s daughter. She had less than a year’s hard training with weapons. She had proved exceptionally quick and strong. But this would be her first real fight. Zhura had seen Ngo in battle. Of him she had no doubts.

We can take six.

Zhura recalled her encounter with bandit slavers in the hill village of Kichinka. That village had been Bayati’s home. Zhura was sure the woman thought to her own friends and family who had met a similar fate. Slavery was a loathsome practice, virtually unknown in the forest valley that Zhura called home.

One of the captives slowed, pleading some appeal to the slavers. She was yanked to her knees in the sand and lashed with a whip. Out on the dark expanse of Silmani Bay, a light flashed briefly. Another boat waited out on the water.

Stay behind us, Zhura said to Bayati. Free the captives as quickly as you can. Watch for any guards we miss.

She exchanged a glance with Ngo. The spearman hefted his shield, and leveled the black iron point of his weapon.

Ready, he said.

They raced across the low dunes, the pounding surf matching Zhura’s own even breaths. The sand was damp, but firm under her toes.

Demonic vigor coursed through her veins.

The slavers were too occupied with their captives to notice Zhura and Ngo dashing at them until it was too late. The first, in the rear, barely had time to see her and raise his cudgel before she whipped her staff around and smashed the steel shod tip into his jaw. He dropped. Zhura spun her weapon in her hands, and brought the end of the shaft down hard on his knee.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Ngo drive his man down with a shield charge and finish him. Ngo then turned upon the man leading the line of prisoners with torch and whip.

The captives tried to scatter. Tied together, they stumbled, presenting a barrier that blocked Zhura from the guard on their seaward side. He cried out to his companions near the boat. The pair came running, short, curved swords in hand.

One of the boatmen staggered to the sand as Bayati’s thrown mambele sunk into his side, the hooked blade piercing him just under the rib cage. Then Zhura skirted past the captives and was upon the fourth guard.

He swung his club viciously. He lunged to try to push her off balance. She sidestepped easily, letting him swing and miss. Flush with arcane energy, Zhura was much quicker. When she saw a clear opening, she bore his weapon down and away. With a smooth pivot of her staff, she rammed the haft into his nose. He fell back, and she finished him with a blow to the chest.

Zhura was not a killer. She was an herb-witch, a healer. And yet, she knew what these men were, what they would do to her and their captives if they got the upper hand.

Five guards were down. The last boatman sank to his knees and surrendered.

As soon as Bayati cut them loose, two of the captives fled across the sand towards the grass. The city of Namu was only a couple of hours away, back up the strand.

We came to help you! Bayati cried. To no avail. The two soon vanished in the night.

Who are you? asked one of the captives. She was graceful, with arched eyebrows, and thin, shoulder-length braids that escaped her red cowl. Like the others the three friends had freed, she was young and healthy-looking. Just what slavers would want.

House San hired us, Zhura said, to catch slavers.

House San did employ Zhura and her friends. But it wasn’t slavers the nobles were interested in.

Out to sea, the light flashed again.

You’re safe now, Ngo told the former captives, we’ll bring the Goldshields. If you need it, we can provide food and shelter for the night.

Who’s out there? Zhura asked the boatman who’d surrendered. She nodded towards the flashing light as Ngo tied the man’s hands. A slaver named Bluejar?

The man, broad-faced and balding, said nothing.

Tell us the truth, and we’ll let you go, Zhura said.

He stared back at her and spat in the sand.

As you wish, said Zhura. She turned back to the sea.

You’re not thinking… Ngo began.

Zhura was thinking it. She and Ngo could attack the ship. But that would be reckless. She didn’t know what was out there, and she couldn’t leave Bayati and these people onshore alone.

Bluejar, if he was out there, would have to wait. The answer to the question that burned a path through Zhura’s mind would have to wait.

What am I?

No, Zhura said to Ngo. Lead these people to the guard post at Dugong Marsh. Bring the Goldshields back. Tell them we have captured slavers, with their ship still offshore.

Minutes later, the three friends had bound the surviving guards with the palm fiber ropes they’d used on their captives. Ngo set off through the marsh, leading five of the people they’d rescued and the bound, limping captives.

Zhura, Bayati and the elegant Ikanjan woman retreated to the cover of grass. From there, they could keep watch over the length of beach where they left the dead men, guttering torches, and the boat.

Why didn’t you go with the others? Zhura asked the stranger.

I don’t care for the city guard, she said. Her voice was rich, and deeper than normal. Goldshields are little better than slavers and thieves themselves. I prefer the company of strangers to them.

We’re not strangers, Bayati said. She introduced herself and Zhura.

I am Hani, and you have my deepest gratitude.

The tall bunchgrass around them bent in the breeze, caressing Zhura’s skin. She bared so much more of it than the others, wearing only a short, slit kanga wrap skirt, a second kanga of demonskin folded and tied around her waist, and a brief halter that was the fashion in the Sung Valley villages. Her thick braids were uncovered but tied back to keep them out of her face.

Bayati preferred the Ikanjan style, wearing a longer